(I will try to) Fix You

I've realized that I do a lot of fixing.

At home, I fix breakfast.
I fix what hurts.
I fix hair into high ponytails and intricate french braids.
I may not fix the backwards D or misplaced comma myself, but I damn well stand over her shoulder until she fixes it.  
I have been known to take an appliance apart and spread the parts out on the floor until I can find the way to fix whatever ails it. 

I fix things. It's what I do. 

At work, I fix problems.  My title may sound fancy and academic, but basically I fix problems when they come up.  And they always come up.
Sometimes I fix money.
Sometimes I fix projects that have gone awry or are headed in that direction.
Sometimes I fix a colleague, mop them up,  put them back together because, after all, that's my job.

I fix things.  It's what I do.

I fix the people I love.  I help them examine their situations, offer new insight and sometimes I even walk them directly into the answers they are searching for when they can't seem to find them on their way. 
Sometimes I fix the people I don't love.
Sometimes I fix the people I don't even like.  
Today I found myself outlining a four step solution for a problem that had nothing to do with me for a woman I actively and honestly dislike.  She asked me because she knew I'd have a solution.  Because I fix things.  It's what I do.

I don't mind being the fixer.  I usually find great satisfaction in finding a solution that works and in using my analytic and intuitive mind (because yes, I am both analytic and intuitive) to help others live their best life.  I like finding the answer.  I like solving the problem.  I like finding ways to make the pieces fit.

I like fixing things. It's what I do.  And I'm damn good at it.

And yet, on nights like tonight, when I am exhausted from a day (ok, let's be honest, from weeks and weeks and weeks) of fixing hair, fixing breakfast, fixing problems that I created and fixing ones that I didn't, fixing errors, fixing a smile on my face and fixing to get yet another thing done.....

On nights like tonight, i can't help but wonder if maybe I'm going about this all wrong. 

I know I can't fix everything, so maybe I should not try to fix anything. 
Maybe some problems are best solved by leaving them on the ground until they are ground to dust by so many heels trampling thoughtlessly across them.
Maybe leading the people I love into answers deprives them of the experiences of failing and trying again.
Maybe insisting she fix her backwards D only solves the problem on this go-around and tomorrow it will be Bog instead of Dog, yet again. Maybe there is a bigger problem to solve here.
Maybe my time and attention and considerable efforts would be better spent on fixing me, rather than you. 
Maybe there is truth in the tension and maybe there is beauty in the broken pieces.
Maybe the way is to only fix what truly needs to be fixed, to fix only what is truly mine, and let the rest just....rest.

This feels so little and big, all at once.  This feels like some cosmic lesson I am given to learn over and over again.
Maybe the answer really isn't about fixing at all, but instead about enjoying the cracked open parts that, as Leohard Cohen so famously puts it, let in the light.